Of Ravens and Angels
by Chotronette
Summary: He is an ambitious man, wanting to get stronger, and to succeed, he is willing to step on anything and anyone. He'd be more than pleased to destroy her as well, just as she's partially destroyed him, so many years ago. (Swain & Morgana)-(Swain & LeBlanc)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well hello there! xD I haven't written fanfiction in a loooong time, so this story kind of struck me as an unexpected surprise, but then again, what has to be written, has to be written. And man, if this isn't a weird pairing o.o But my boyfriend's main is Swain and I also am fangirling over him while Morg is my main (not just because girls ususally play support) and he also plays her when he has no other choice, so yeah, that is how my obsession with Swain and Morg was born. I haven't been around for a long while, but then again, I hope you'll like this story :o3**

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><p><em>Chapter I.<em>

The Master Tactician was an ambitious man, so ambitious that, despite his limping and general life-imposed difficulties, he's made it to the top of the Noxian army. And, as if it is to be expected, his ambition does not end here. He will become the pillar of strength Noxus needs, for it to take over Valoran. Coming from a wealthy family had nothing to do with it; even if that, too, helped in nourishing his well-crafted ambition. But wealth hadn't brought him this far, and neither his physical appearance, for the matter.

Who would, after all, take seriously a limping man, with a bird cawing on his shoulder? Who would believe that, no matter how wealthy and influential one's family is, there are some things impossible to accomplish. And for those questions precisely, there is an answer. Well, the Master Tactician himself, to be more precise: Jericho Swain. The most dangerous and powerful man in Noxus, the one believed to lead the country towards certain victory soon. All he needs is... more heads to roll. Unscrupulous and clearly missing a heart, this man undoubtedly represents Noxus' rise or fall.

And this strong man is also suffering from a severe lack of sleep. Having already awoken from his not-so-peaceful slumber, the man struggles with the slight headache that has come over him and lies still, until his whole body awakens, and that sensation is long gone. The moon is still reigning outside his residence's walls, which only makes the man shift uncomfortably in his side of the bed, looking lazily for his robe to put on.

After doing so, and finding his usual cane, he spares a second to look at the bed, where the deceiver's naked skin is bathed in the moonlight, as she has her back at him. How can she sleep without a worry in his vicinity? It has always been a mystery to Swain. But then again, he could ask himself the same question: how can he shut his eyes and dream of resting, with her around? She's merely a business partner, under no way is he in love with her, nor he cares about her. The sex, however, fucking her will always feel like heaven.

Whatever that is.

Limping through the gigantic, but seemingly empty room, the man passes by his favourite ally's own home, the bird awakening with little noise. Almost immediately, as if it were a natural occurrence, it flies to its master's shoulder, accompanying him wherever he goes. His house big, but ever so empty, the owner of the place makes his way through the tall corridors, darkness still perpetual and the shadows waltzing around him, as only a few beams are lit.

Swain arrives to his well-desired room, where he heads to the bar, to mix himself a drink. It might be too late – or too early for a drink – but he could care less about that. There are so many things to do, so many people to kill, victories to obtain and way too little time. The man limps towards the gigantic windows, once his drink is made, watching the beautiful Noxus alive even at such hours.

His house happens to reside somewhere above the city, on the higher grounds – where every other man of importance has their quarters – and watches behind the tall glass the magnificent scenery. The city at his feet is filled with lights and vibrations, proving once again that Noxus never truly sleeps. The sky around it is painted a faded red, the clouds dark and heavy, carrying murderous intent and possible bloodshed.

"I'm so close to make it belong to me, Beatrice," he says hoarsely and sips from his alcoholic drink, bright red eyes not leaving the deadly sight. Beautiful, it's such a beautiful city. The bird on his shoulder, apparently named Beatrice responds vocally to his master's words, probably agreeing with him. "And yet, I am so far from it as well. Something, something has to be done to change the course of things, otherwise Noxus will fall into the wrong hands." Then again, whoever's hands aren't Swain's can be considered the wrong ones.

So many possibilities rush through his mind, with even more parallel endings, each and every one relying on a different possibility. In mere seconds, he'd taken in consideration any possible hindrance, obstacle, any breath coming out wrong. And yet, it was not enough. His complex strategies would eventually bring him to power, but it would also take too long for his taste.

He will step through blood if he has to, and he is more than happy to oblige. He is not afraid of death, for it had feared Jericho Swain instead. And a head will roll, it simply depends whose...

Of course, high on his list is not just a person, but he should certainly prioritize one: Boram Darkwill.

"Now," Swain hums towards his companion, having already finished his drink and slowly heading towards the couches from the middle of the room. "Shall we look around the city for a bit?" At his question, Beatrice makes a sound similar to an affirmation.

He takes a seat on the couch, after placing the empty glass on the wooden table then leans against the furniture, closing his eyes, but not planning to fall asleep.

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><p>Her small room is taken over by duality, a fine battle between the stubborn darkness and the strong light. It is still too early for her to get up, and she would not want to give up the comfort of her mattress for anything, although she has work to do, cookies to bake. Her room might not be huge, or her bed flamboyant, but it is just enough to fit her thin body and degenerated wings.<p>

Lying on her side, she lazily opens one eye, noting how the light makes weird shadows fall on the empty wall, after coming in contact with her broken wings. She watches the shadows for a while, the light shifting, automatically changing the shadows. And the show goes on like this for a few minutes, until she notices a bird by her window. But the shadows on the walls fall in such perfect place, that it seems as if her wing is a branch, with the bird sitting on it.

Then follows the tapping on the glass. The woman smiles softly as she forces her numb body to finally get up from the bed. She stretches her long arms above her head, straightens her back and runs her fingers through her hair, before getting out of bed.

She then slowly walks towards the window, touching the glass with her index and smiling at the black bird, her first guest of everyday and lately, her alarm clock as well.

"Well, hello there buddy. I will be out with bread crumbs in a few." She says with a hoarse voice, never ceasing to smile.

The woman then takes a robe and puts it around her, her dead wings not being uncomfortable at all. She's long got used not to feel them anymore, ever since the Fall, ever since landing in this world, and nostalgia rarely catches up to her. Her long, purple hair dances on her back as she exits her bedroom, heads to the bathroom and then walks down to the kitchen.

There, a small surprise awaits her, as she sees the lights on and the oven turned on as well. Looking around, the woman sees a tall and bulky man with a helmet covering his head, but overall, him wearing a pâtissier's clothing, and working hard from the very early morning.

"Oh, Lady Morgana, you're up so early." The man greets her respectfully and smiles behind the helmet. Or, well, so Morgana figures.

"I could say the same about yourself, Pantheon," she replies softly, as she makes her way towards a counter, grabbing a bowl of bread crumbs. "I will be back soon and begin our work for the day." She then adds from the threshold.

"Yes ma'am!" Exclaims the gladiator, being hyped up.

The one called Morgana walks around the building, which is her very own bakery, and heads to the backyard, where the usual suspects wait for her. Once stepped out, she is welcomed by some birds, and a smaller flock also lands in the yard. She throws the leftover crumbs at the hungry beasts, searching with her eyes for her favourite one. And eventually, her dark eyes land upon it, standing at a fair distance from the rest of the birds.

"Aren't you hungry as well?" She asks the black raven, as she kneels in front of the birds.

Eventually, the raven gains some courage and walks to the crumbs, feeding itself as well. Morgana watches them eat, fill their small, little stomachs, and notices their wings. So beautiful, so alive. Sometimes, only sometimes, she misses having her old wings, being able to fly, to touch the air and see the clouds.

But she cannot be held in one place by the past any longer. She knew very well that her decision has come with consequences, and for the last decades she's done exceptionally well in complying them. Morgana will not start to fall apart now.

She has a bakery to run, and sweet toothed Noxians to feed.

So, rising from her spot, she throws one last smile at the birds, and then her steps hurriedly take her inside, as to change and start yet another day. One thing she loves about Noxus above them all is the summery mornings and twilights.

What the fallen angel doesn't know, however, is that the red-eyed black raven has never taken its eyes off of her, while she was present.

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><p>"What's with that position, Jericho?" Her feminine voice echoes from the threshold and, as he opens his eyes, awoken from the trance, he sees the feline-woman he's shared so many nights and days with, standing there stark naked and wearing a bored expression on her dulled features.<p>

The man simply shakes his head and gestures from his wrist, looking away. "At least have the decency to put on some clothes." He then says flatly.

She shrugs and makes her way in the room, slipping on the couch facing Swain's and tucking the soft blanket from it around her. Short hair a mess, she looks at him intently, but not with a genuine curiosity.

"What were you doing?" She then asks, for the sake of breaking the silence.

Their mornings were rather dull and boring, like a well-practiced routine. It wasn't sweet and filled with the afterglow so many couples experienced, but then again, they were no couple; they weren't in love.

"Thinking of my – our next move," Swain collects his thoughts, and looks at the woman. He still couldn't get used to this boring appearance of hers. But then again, some things had to remain a mystery for the public eye.

She chuckles softly, lying on the couch like any other cat, the edges of her lips curling evilly. "I think I know a great way to finally take down Darkwill." She says, slightly sleepily.

Swain cocks a brow upwards, crossing his arms over his chest and waits for her to continue. Beatrice stirs beside him, but he pays no attention to her; it can wait.

And waiting is all what he does, because the woman does not continue; she only looks at him with a dangerous glint in her eye. Swain lets out a frustrated sigh and speaks up rather tiredly: "What is it that you want in exchange?"

At that, she mewls happily, sitting up like a ten year old, who has just laid their hands on sweets. "There's someone in my circles I want permanently removed. But I cannot move a nail, because it'd be too obvious." She faked being in trouble, for Swain to softly roll his eyes.

"Consider it done. Now share with me your plan." He then says shortly, not really being a man of patience.

The woman smiles widely at him and opens her mouth to say what she has in mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II.

"Kennen, we have another delivery!" Morgana shouts from the kitchen, as she takes out a trail of freshly baked cookies and places them on a counter.

Beside her, Pantheon is working hard on another order, even though his sweets sometimes take on the shape of the sun. And by "sometimes", it means quite often. But that's the recipe for another story. Currently, Morgana is rushing left and right, because they're a bit late with the orders and it's just the perfect day that Soraka, who usually dealt with the clients came down with a fever. So it's practically left Morgana to handle both the work in the kitchen and the customers. She just feels bad for Kennen, who has to run to all places.

"Kennen are you back yet?" Morgana asks frantically as she leaves the kitchen, headed upstairs to the store, hoping that her errand boy might be miraculously back. Instead, she sees someone else, waiting for another order. "Thank goodness at least you're back, Ziggs!" She lets out a breath of relief and she looks at the Yordle munching some cookies, probably his breakfast and lunch and most certainly his dinner as well.

"This would taste better with a bomb!" The Yordle exclaims, his eyes gleaming dangerously and Morgana rushes to him slightly panicked, just in time to put away the bomb.

"Ziggs, please take another delivery to this address. And no bombing, okay?" She says with a forced smile, patting his head.

He nods, even though he clearly looks disappointed, but takes the order anyways and, while munching on the last bit of his food, hurries away. Sighing in relief, Morgana turns her back at the entrance of the store and takes out the list with the orders and deliveries, checking the one she just gave to Ziggs.

"Man, thank goodness he doesn't know Jinx." Morgana whispers to herself, shuddering slightly at the mere thought of those two bomb-maniacs blowing things up just to show off.

The main door opens and Morgana speaks without paying attention to the customer, wishing them welcome and such. Only when the person clears their throat, Morgana wakes up from the list-checking and looks at them. She is taken aback for a moment, when noticing the black-cloaked, enormous person standing in her bakery, but doesn't let it show.

"How can I be of help, sir...?" She asks politely, hands softly locked in front of her.

The customer says nothing, only hands her a golden envelope, with the General's emblem on it. She shudders a bit, what for she has no idea; eventually, she takes the envelope and looks at the man questioningly.

But he says nothing more, simply bows at her and then turns on his heel and leaves, like a shadow. Morgana looks at the envelope, her hands a bit shaky, wondering just what exactly would want the General from her. Her baked goods? But they're not such high quality... Okay, they're tasty and all, but surely the grand Jericho Swain has better access to extravagant food and such.

And yet, she struggles to open the envelope and to read the black inked words on golden paper. Her hands a bit shaky, Morgana gulps and runs her tongue over her lips, reading the order carefully over and over again.

"Pantheon! We've got a V.I.P.!" She then shouts, her voice still shaking.

_Why would she even come? _He asks himself, while sitting in his living room, playing with a half-emptied glass of the finest alcohol and being almost entirely out of touch with reality. Beatrice is still on his shoulder, everything silent around him.

Why would he care? She is nothing to him, after all. Surely, there are certain... images he cannot erase from his mind, but it's happened long ago, when he was a child and, as mentioned before, those are mere _images_. Surely, it has affected him and changed him, helped him grow up, but it no longer means something. Or that's what he tells himself, at the very least.

"Whew, so good to be back to normal," a feminine voice says as she walks into the living room; a tall and thin woman, with short black hair and an ornament of jewels on her head. Her eyes painted black, lips red; she wears audacious clothing, covering her just barely. She holds a long staff in one hand, golden and with colourful jewels at the top of it, magically floating around. How does she do that, it's a mystery.

"Oh, Emilia," Swain says lazily.

The woman rolls her eyes and takes a seat in front of him, asking the maid for a cup of hot tea. "Please, it's LeBlanc, okay? And besides, I'm not wearing one of my dulled doll's appearance now. Can't wait for the angel to come." She says with a rather violent excitement, something dark and eerie in her expression.

The reason of such a facade couldn't really be questioned, so to say. It would be suspicious for the Matron of the Black Rose to constantly visit an ex-member of the same organization, and in late hours as well. While few know of the Black Rose, the ones who do are dangerous enough and besides, Swain and LeBlanc have enough on their minds with taking over the military to worry about other curious bastards as well. That is also the reason while LeBlanc's visits are... subtle, so to say, and she cleverly disguises herself for the nightly pleasure.

"So what is this angel has to do with anything we're going to do?" The Master Tactician asks flatly, while emptying the contents of his glass.

LeBlanc, on the other hand doesn't hurry to answer his question and simply attend to her tea. A few minutes slip by, when she's decided to answer him.

"Because I was the one who summoned her _here_." She says expressionlessly, and places down the cup of tea. "Well, my ancestor did, to be more precise, but you know it doesn't really matter." She hushes the added sentence with a simple gesture from her wrist.

Swain tilts his head to the side. "You did what?" He finds it quite hard to believe it, of course. How could someone have the power to summon another being from a far-away dimension here, and also keep it under control? Not to say that he's never heard of this, not even once. Could LeBlanc be that strong, or was she simply bluffing?

"I see doubt in your eye, Jericho," she states, while sipping from her beverage, not even sparing him a look.

"I wonder why." He replies with refined sarcasm.

She chuckles softly, looking at him afterwards. "She doesn't know either. How about you wait for a bit until she comes and I will reveal my reasons to both of you?"

Swain clicks his tongue in defiance. "You dare to put me on the same level with some Fallen? You come into my house, sneak into my bed, ask for my help and try to boss me around? I'm not one of your lapdogs _Emilia_. So you either treat me with equality, or..."

"I know, I know." She says, cutting him off in midsentence. "I might have misplaced the words. But yes, I do treat you with equality, just as you treat me. I will tell you what plans I have with her."

She never thought setting foot in the Golden Quarters of Noxus would make her feel so intimidated. Then again, it is to be expected. This part of the city belongs to the gentry, still. And even though, back home, she was also part of the royal family, things have changed here and now, she's a very happy baker.

Morgana holds her breath as she enters this man's home, but she manages to still look composed. As expected, the whole place is heavily guarded, by men wearing green and golden clothes, more similar to robes than actual armour. And yet, it has a touch of elegance. She has yet no idea why had she been personally summoned to deliver the cookies, but it's also a chance for her to see him, of all people: the Master Tactician, the one who truly carries Noxus on his shoulders.

Such an intimidating figure, and she's never seen him up close. Not that she ever had the chance to do so, but still.

The house is rather empty, Morgana decides. Surely, paintings hang on the walls, there are decorations, but everything has a darkish feel to it, like nobody truly lives there, as if the whole place were a ribcage with no heart or lungs. And the deeper she is taken by a maid, the more convinced she is that Jericho Swain is indeed a dark, but otherwise empty man, just like his house.

And eventually, she is led to the living room, where she notices two grand figures sitting on couches, both looking at her, intimidating her slightly. Still, she holds her ground and steps forward, bowing politely.

"Your order from Sinful Succulence has arrived sire, ma'am." She says with a well-practiced humbleness.

"Thank you. Now come, have a seat." The woman says, her voice sharp and strangely menacing. "And please, serve our guest with some tea." She then tells the maid.

Morgana finds it weird that, despite it being _his_ house, this woman bosses around. Yet, she moves closer, placing the box carefully on the glass table and then taking a seat as invited. She shifts a bit though, the armchair bothering her wings and back a bit, but it's okay. She dares not to look at either of them in the eye, especially at him. For some reason, being in the same room with him makes her heart beat uncontrollably. And the worst part is that she has no idea why.

"Uhm, why do you wish to have a word with me?" Morgana then asks, while looking at the woman known as LeBlanc. She's dangerous, a deceiver and a liar, or so they say. But, for some reason, there is something about her creepily familiar in the fallen angel's eyes.

She cannot put her finger on it, but that LeBlanc is very familiar. And the General as well, but that is another cup of tea...

And talking about tea, Morgana is also served with a cup, while LeBlanc takes her time and savours hers. In the meanwhile, the Master Tactician refills his own glass with alcohol.

"I know it's been about, what, two decades ago, and surely you no longer remember the details, but do you know why did you end up in Runeterra, Morgana?" LeBlanc asks all of a sudden, and the angel narrows her eyes at her.

Of course she does. What, does that mage take her for some stupid bitch?

"Yes." And yet, she keeps her decency. "Back in my home, I wished to stop my sister's tyranny and free my people from her clasp. It was not possible until I was contacted by mages from this dimension, who pushed me towards my Fall." She explains it simply, expressionlessly.

The other woman nods knowingly, while Swain seems awfully bored, even though he keeps his composition and somehow, still manages to assert himself, with no word spoken as of yet.

"I am aware of that, for you see our organisation, called the Black Rose, was the one that helped you out and offered you the opportunity to start anew." LeBlanc says with a small smile on her face.

Morgana cannot help but chuckle softly. "I do not doubt the organisation, but allow me to doubt you." She says simply, looking at the other woman. Swain is also suddenly interested, somehow charmed by her words. "Time flows differently in our dimensions, which means that in the last two decades, since I've been here, I barely aged, while the rest of you aged accordingly. So please, enlighten me, how is it that you have not changed your appearance, then? Excuse my doubtful nature, but one can never be too certain."

LeBlanc offers her a controlled smile and tilts her head to the side. "That is correct. It wasn't me, not psychically, but the previous Matron of the Black Rose. I'm afraid that is all I can share with you, for the moment..."

"Then I presume I can take my leave." Morgana states suddenly, and notices LeBlanc's perfectly controlled expression slip for a nanosecond. It's like a victory for her, since she cannot stand that woman already.

"Oh, by all means, the fun is yet to begin." She says with a chuckle, motioning for the angel to take a seat once again.

Swain's eyes move from one woman to the other and he's both engrossed and awfully bored by them. This is a women's war and he has no intention of butting in, but he has to admit, he likes that Fallen's guts. Few managed to remain composed around LeBlanc. None stayed alive after spending a few minutes with both him and the Deceiver.

"I was the one summoning you here, as means of saving you, but as you well know, your sister has contacted High Counselor Reginald Ashram as means of stripping you of any further power and completely defeat you over here. I took the liberty to silence him and thus, help you once more, by stopping your sister to become stronger and possibly enact revenge on you. Now she's busy being a righteous champion at the Institute, so she's out of our sights for a while."

Morgana tilts her head to the side. "Well, not quite, but sure."

At that, LeBlanc chuckles. "Poisoning her under the Institute's nose, bit by bit, by snuggling your baked goods into the Institute of war itself? Genius, I must say." She seems genuinely impressed by that, but Morgana doesn't buy that for a second.

"So why is it, that you need me?"

At that, it's Swain who makes his voice heard, for the first time. Morgana flinches slightly at the sounds of his deep and hoarse voice, but stays put in place.

"I need your multi-power abilities to back me up, so I can become the true pillar of strength Noxus needs." He says, looking directly at her.

And it is also the first time, ever since entering his house, practically, that Morgana truly looks at him. Crouched like that in the couch, he doesn't seem much, she cannot even make out his height; all she knows is that he wears green and golden robes, like his guards, and half of his face is covered by a scarf, red eyes with a dangerous glint in them. He seems as if he were in his mid or late thirties, even though appearances can be deceiving. And then she also notices the black raven on his shoulder, much to her surprise.

Her mouth opens slightly, as she recognizes the bird visiting her daily, but seeing how he's narrowed his eyes at her, Morgana quickly slips back her emotionless mask.

"And what do I have to do, to be more precise?" She asks either of them, but looking at the cup of tea.

"Weaken someone a bit, so he cannot do much while in combat. The rest will be taken care of by us." The Deceiver explains simply.

"I understand. I will gladly help you out, for the sake of Noxus." Morgana says as she rises to her feet. LeBlanc mimics her gesture.

"We shall discuss your payment at our next meeting." She says and Morgana nods simply. "Oh and, thank you for the cookies! I heard they're the most delicious in the entire city!"

Morgana steals one hurried glance from Swain, their eyes locking for a second, but Morgana being the one to break away first. She bows at the two and takes her leave shortly after.

Swain leans back against the couch, hands neatly folded on his crossed legs.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" He then asks with a frown.

"This is the best idea we've ever had!" Comes LeBlanc's reply, while munching on a cookie.


End file.
